


flash spots shooting, bright as the sun

by thelostcolony



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: (we all knew he was a soft bottom boy), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Ethan, Crying During Sex, Dorian Gray And His Licking Problem, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Strangulation, Submissive Ethan, Voyeurism, but like ... the sexy kind, i can't believe i've contributed to the sin of this fandom, it definitely sounds much raunchier with these tags, this is the dirtiest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostcolony/pseuds/thelostcolony
Summary: "I want to immortalize you," Dorian said, squeezing tighter and watching the way Ethan's color was changing, the way his eyes rolled. "I want to keep you. You need only say no, and I'll drop it."But Ethan's gaze had sharpened, focused without air, eyes drawn to Dorian's. Within them, Dorian could see Ethan rising to the challenge, to the idea of having himself photographed for anyone to stumble upon and see. And he hadn't said no.





	flash spots shooting, bright as the sun

Ethan had agreed to it after several long minutes of coaxing, mostly spoken between teasing flicks of Dorian's tongue against Ethan's neck. "You would be beautiful," Dorian told him, sucking another brutal bruise into the pulse point of Ethan's neck. Ethan arched prettily, growling low in his throat, a heady thing. "It would simply be you and I."

"And the photographer," Ethan corrected, sharp and biting. Dorian nipped at his skin in rebuke, and Ethan's chest heaved. 

"Who is well trained to do his job, and only his job," Dorian said. 

"Why're you so insistent 'bout this?" Ethan panted, and Dorian smirked against Ethan's skin, trailing his fingertips down that pretty neck and tightening his hold in all the right places. Ethan squirmed under him, but from arousal rather than fear. 

"I want to immortalize you," Dorian said, squeezing tighter and watching the way Ethan's color was changing, the way his eyes rolled. "I want to keep you. You need only say no, and I'll drop it."

But Ethan's gaze had sharpened, focused without air, eyes drawn to Dorian's. Within them, Dorian could see Ethan rising to the challenge, to the idea of having himself photographed for anyone to stumble upon and see. And he hadn't said no.

So now here they stand, Ethan in nothing but his drawers and the photographer set up and ready to capture him. Dorian himself is fully clothed, though loosely; he wears no shoes in his own home, delighting in the cool marble of the floors against the bottoms of his feet, and he hadn't buttoned his waistcoat. 

Ethan fidgets under the photographer's perceived scrutiny. He seems to not know where to put his arms, and struggles with the positioning of his hands; Dorian watches him squirm for a moment, pleased, before he grants a reprieve and inclines his chin. "On the chaise, if you would, Mr Chandler."

Ethan squints at him, those unquiet eyes studying, but he does as he's told. He sits, body tense, and lays his palms against his thighs - a soldier's pose, hardly at ease. Dorian will have to change that, but for now he relishes in the helpless look Ethan’s taken on, trapped beneath his gaze and the camera's lens.

Ethan fidgets again, still strung in discomfort — and while _ helplessness _is encouraged, discomfort won’t do. Dorian would hate for the fun to end before it's even truly begun. "I never took you for the shy sort," Dorian says, half teasing and half biting, and Ethan's gaze lights on his. There's that fire, that poorly concealed violence that Ethan so desperately reins in. Dorian delights in being the undoing of such control. 

"I ain't," Ethan snaps, like a particularly skittish stray. His hackles have risen, but his muscles relax as some of that pent up energy is given an outlet. "I've just never had my picture taken before."

Dorian's smile broadens. "Ah, a truly new experience, then," he says, and gestures to the camera. "Well, allow me to enlighten you. You're captured through this," he gestures to the lens. "The powder will flash, and there will be a bright light. There's nothing to worry about in that regard, though some do flinch at first when they aren't used to it. And then it will develop in this," he points to the box. "And there you will be. Immortalized."

Ethan's head is cocked to the side. For all that Mr Chandler claims to be, he's certainly a quick study, and Dorian is sure that Ethan is reading between whatever lines he may find in Dorian's speech, the subtle nuance in Dorian's chosen vocabulary. Ultimately, he says nothing regarding it, though his eyes are wary when he finally meets Dorian's gaze again. "An' will it just be me in these portraits?"

Dorian smirks. From the corner of his eye, he sees the photographer lift the cloth over his head, signifying his readiness to capture. He won't do so until Dorian indicates, but he's at the ready, and that's all that matters. Finally — immortality has certainly made Dorian crave instant gratification. But in some things, there needs to be patience.

He stalks towards Ethan carefully, bare feet making no noise against the marble. Ethan watches him come with hungry eyes, clear of any influence. The whiskey Ethan had requested had only been provided in one shot, and it's clearly done very little for Ethan aside from perhaps the slight settling of his nerves. Just as Dorian intended.

Ethan leans back as Dorian comes into his space, nudging Ethan's knees apart with one of his own to more comfortably stand between them. Ethan's face is tilted upwards, eyes narrowed, and Dorian very gently reaches out with his fingertips to trace Ethan's brows, his nose, his lips. Ethan's eyes flutter shut under these ministrations, gentle but not tender. It's a catalog more than it's a study: Ethan knows this. 

Dorian supposes he could pretend that it's a study, though. He bows his head to press his lips to each new feature he traces, skirting Ethan's lips and instead kissing his eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones. With each press, Ethan exhales a little, tiny huffs of breath that indicate his pleasure.

Dorian allows this to stretch for several minutes before he dares to speak. "You truly are exquisite," he murmurs as he turns his head to kiss at the edge of Ethan's jaw. Ethan tilts his head to the side, allowing Dorian better access. Dorian rubs his cheek against Ethan's beard, pleased by the rasp, and nips at Ethan’s skin with the slightest amount of teeth. Patience; Dorian must be patient. Ethan makes a soft sound, nothing near a moan but just as agonized by the teasing.

The photographer stands in the background, waiting. He's a good man, the quiet sort who is there to do his job only. He's worked with this man very little - well, two years, though for Dorian that's almost like two blinks - and the man knows when to be silent and allow Dorian to work.

Ethan allows Dorian to push him backwards, guided so that his upper shoulders are resting against the back of the chaise. It's easier to suck on Ethan's neck this way, and Ethan angles his head so that Dorian has full access again. Dorian licks a stripe up to Ethan's ear and takes that between his teeth, nipping. Ethan sighs luxuriously, and his hands reach out to cup the very top of Dorian's thighs. It's far from an obscene gesture, but it also inspires hope: Ethan, no longer able to see around Dorian’s body, has forgotten about the photographer.

Dorian sucks on Ethan's ear, threading his fingers through Ethan's hair and tugging sharply. Ethan grunts, but it's far from pained: his grip tightens and slides over Dorian's buttocks, exploring. Dorian is still fully clothed, and Ethan seems to notice it: he starts to work at the buttons on the front of Dorian's trousers, hands aggressive with his need.

Dorian lets him have it, stepping elegantly out of them as Ethan shoves them down his legs. Ethan finally shifts a little, chasing Dorian's lips with his mouth, searching for a kiss. Dorian obliges, and Ethan immediately opens his mouth and uses his tongue, trying to press in and dominate. Dorian lets him do this too; when Ethan gets too eager, he tugs sharply on the hair he grips in his hand, and Ethan breaks off with a gasp.

"Not so fast," Dorian says, and Ethan frowns up at him, eyes fever bright. "I want this to last."

"We ain’t done anything yet,” Ethan argues pointedly. “An’ unless you’re thinkin’ of changing that, I’ll go as fast as I damn well like.”

Dorian tsks at him, tightening his grip on Ethan's hair. Ethan's lips part, and his eyes crease in that mix of pain and pleasure; he’s purposefully looking to irk Dorian, to invoke his ire. Well, there’s no need: Dorian knows full well what Ethan craves. He leans forward and breathes against Ethan's open mouth, their gazes locked, and licks Ethan’s lips with the tip of his tongue. "If you want me to do more," Dorian says, permissive, "show me."

Ethan doesn't hesitate: his hands fly to Dorian's waistcoat, ripping it so it severs down the middle and slips off Dorian's arms, and then they go to Dorian's drawers, which are given the same treatment as his trousers. Dorian stands naked before Ethan, allowing Ethan's eyes to rake over him. 

"And now you," he says, and undoes the button on Ethan's own drawers. There's a nice tent in the fabric, clear evidence of Ethan's arousal, though Dorian neglects it for now. Ethan lifts his hips so that Dorian can slide them over Ethan's thighs and down his calves, cock springing free. Ethan hisses as the air hits him, and Dorian's eyes flit to his, teasing.

Ethan's own burn with desire.

"Touch me," he demands, and Dorian kneels between Ethan’s knees, exposing Ethan to the room finally. The photographer is silent and still, but Ethan startles as he's reminded of their voyeur. Dorian cups Ethan's cheek, redirects his gaze, and pushes against his shoulders again to get him to lie back like he had been.

Dorian lays his palms against Ethan's exposed thighs, massaging the muscles there. Ethan quivers in anticipation, finally realizing what's happening. Dorian slithers his hands along until they grasp at Ethan's hips and press firmly to hold them down.

Dorian locks eyes with Ethan, and deliberately blows a breath over the head of Ethan's cock. Ethan moans then, a clear sound that echoes with the help of the room's perfect acoustics, and immediately bites it off, his fist flying against his mouth. He flushes, and it travels down his neck and into his chest. It’s a flattering color.

"Be as loud as you wish," Dorian advises. "I want to hear you. And fair warning: if you cover your mouth, I'll stop."

Ethan lets out a muffled groan before his fist goes to grasp at the back of the chaise behind his head. His other one reaches for Dorian's hair, but it rests gently against the top of Dorian's head, not demanding. "Perfect," Dorian says, and wraps his lips around the head of Ethan's cock.

Ethan's groan rumbles through him, upper body convulsing with pleasure. Dorian lowers himself further, opening the back of his throat, and Ethan moans, a filthy sound. Ethan’s hand goes to his mouth, aborts before it gets there, and wraps loosely around his own throat, flexing but not squeezing. Dorian hums at the sight, and Ethan whimpers.

Dorian pays careful attention to the spots that make Ethan's fingers spasm in his hair, the swirls of his tongue that have him catching Ethan's hips before they can thrust, the way Ethan's moans get higher, whimperish, when he uses a hint of teeth. He laps at the head, tracing the vein on the underside before licking his way back upwards to suck at the tip teasingly, exhaling cool air onto it whenever he needs to take a breath and making Ethan shudder.

Ethan is already wrecked, muscles clenching with the force of remaining still, mouth open in abandon. Dorian keeps at it, attuned to the push and pull of Ethan's arousal, sensing when his attentions are becoming too intense and backing off accordingly. Ethan is frustrated every time, softly grunting every time his orgasm is yanked from his reach.

Dorian lifts himself from Ethan’s cock, making eye contact as he swings to straddle the chaise, his own erect and neglected for the time being. He pushes Ethan so he’s laying out in full view on the chaise, cushioned against pillows that he’s quick to grasp, arms over his head again. Dorian keeps his eyes on Ethan’s as he lowers himself again, takes Ethan back into his mouth, and begins sucking with determination. Ethan’s head falls back with another moan.

The photographer has been so patient, watchful, and Dorian lifts one hand off Ethan's waist in order to signal his ability to begin capturing. Then it returns there, tightening again, and Ethan's hips stutter against it as his fingers slot in already bruising areas.

"God damn," Ethan gasps, feet scraping for purchase against the cushions. "God… I’m—” Ethan arches, close to another peak, and the bright flash of the powder goes off.

Dorian remains steady as Ethan flinches violently, rocked away from pleasure. He can feel the way Ethan's body immediately stiffens, on high alert now that he's actively been photographed, but Dorian redoubles his efforts, hollowing his cheeks. Ethan's eyelashes flutter, and he makes another soft, almost wounded noise.

"I don't know if - _ oh," _ Ethan's protest cuts off as Dorian fondles the places his mouth can't reach, hands clever and knowing. "I ain't - _ ahhh."_

Dorian raises his head just long enough to make eye contact again, fingers venturing lower to press against the soft patch of skin behind Ethan’s cock. Ethan tilts his head back, mouth open in a silent gasp. “I can stop whenever you like,” Dorian says calmly as Ethan struggles for control.

“You really — are a rattlesnake," he chokes, but it’s not a no, and Dorian laughs and wraps his lips back around Ethan’s cock and sucks with as much force as he can. Ethan jerks violently, one hip free, and it off balances them for a second before they resettle. "Holy _ shit, _that's good."

Ah: flattery will get Ethan everywhere. Dorian hollows his cheeks again, and Ethan all but flops back onto the pillows, whole body trembling. "Are you gonna let me come?" He growls, but it comes out plaintive, a request. Dorian gentles his pace to a barely-present suckle, which Ethan _ does _growl at. "If you're not gonna do more than that, then at least get a move on," he snaps, and Dorian looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. Ethan immediately flushes under Dorian's reproachful gaze, like a boy caught with his hand down his pants for the first time.

As if aware that he’s toed the line of what Dorian is deeming acceptable tonight, Ethan tolerates more teasing, allowing Dorian to go at the pace he wishes. And isn't that surrender so sweet, the knowledge that Dorian can render this rowdy, wild American submissive and subservient under his ministrations. Ethan quivers with the effort of behaving, and Dorian _ has _had such fun with him tonight. He’s been good.

Dorian pulls off. "I think you deserve a reward," he says, licking spit from his lips, "for being so obliging." He flattens himself over Ethan, pressing his lips to Ethan's mouth, tongue nudging its way past Ethan's teeth. Ethan moans, muffled against Dorian, arms encircling Dorian and trapping him against his chest.

The flash goes off again, but doesn't startle Ethan nearly as badly: he groans with it, shivering, and ruts up against Dorian's belly. Dorian kisses him deeply, Pavlovian approval, and reaches between the pillows that Ethan lies against for the oil he's stored there for this very purpose. Not specifically meant for Ethan, but useful in this situation all the same.

He sits on his shins between Ethan's legs, hiking up Ethan's knees. One he puts over the backrest of the chaise; the other over his shoulder. Exposed like this, Ethan looks ravishing, irresistible. Dorian leans down again, steadying Ethan's leg as he does so, to kiss just above Ethan's navel. He sucks bruises there as well, for good measure, and Ethan's hands spasm again with pleasure. He keeps at it until Ethan is panting with the effort of staying still, lips swollen from how hard he’s biting down on them, before he finally moves on.

He unscrews the lid to the tin and scoops out a generous amount of salve, smiling rakishly at Ethan. Ethan blinks at him, dazed by arousal and lust. Dorian reaches out with his fingers, brandishing it below Ethan's nose. "Do you like the smell?" Dorian asks. "It's citrus and lavender."

Ethan inhales deeply and instantly shivers. It’s a delight to see. "Another one of your perfumes?" Ethan manages, and can’t seem to help himself as his hips rise in an attempt to rub against Dorian’s stomach again. 

Dorian looks on, not wholly impassively but surely without sympathy. "It is perfumed," he says, "but not specifically used for me. You see," he scoops more out and uses his own thighs to spread Ethan's further, revealing him. "It's rather used for a lubricant, really."

Dorian rubs his fingers against Ethan, and Ethan moans so loudly that Dorian appraises him. "Mr Chandler, such noise," he says, but his tone is approving. He rubs insistently, without give. "You could beg, you know. It may sway me into going faster."

Ethan instantly perks up. "Please," he rasps, gravelly with desire. "Please, _ faster_, fuck me."

Dorian hums.

"Please," Ethan says again, tinged with the start of tears. Interesting. "Please fuck me, _ fuck_, I'm so - _ please_."

Dorian nods, his own pulse jumping. Interesting indeed. An American who knows how to beg pretty: he's not had many of those, though Ethan does seem to live to surprise. "Well, how can I refuse," Dorian grants, but he lets Ethan’s knees fall so that he can coax Ethan onto his hands and knees. Rather than inserting his fingers, he lowers himself down again and slowly laps at Ethan’s entrance in long, heavy strokes.

The sound that escapes Ethan is inhuman, and Dorian relishes in it. He shortens to tiny kitten licks, the kind that encourage soft, small noises from Ethan’s mouth rather than those heavy moans, taking his time. Ethan’s whole body is shaking with the effort of holding himself up, so Dorian decides for him: he pauses, reaches up to the back of Ethan’s neck, and pushes his cheek to the cushion. Ethan gasps, but doesn’t protest and maintains the position, trembling.

Dorian resumes his worship, working with lips and tongue and teeth, and Ethan makes a sound that goes straight down Dorian’s spine. “Please,” Ethan begs, voice wet. He shifts; it must be the perfect position, because the flash goes off again. Ethan flinches, but it presses him backwards into Dorian rather than away. Dorian nips at his thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but Ethan lets out another loose cry. _ “Please!” _

Even the most patient of saints would yield to such a plea, and Dorian is no saint. He grasps Ethan’s hips and helps flip him so Ethan is on his back again, revealed to Dorian once more. And a stunning sight he makes: tear tracks streak his face, chest red, cock straining and knees gaping, it’s hard to imagine the grand, gun-wielding Mr Chandler now.

Dorian takes mercy, hoisting Ethan’s knees again and instantly sinking two fingers deep into him. Ethan makes a choking noise, head thumping against the pillows as he rocks with Dorian's fingers. They probe around, feeling Ethan's walls, searching but not necessarily with vigour. He'll find it. He always does.

"Please," Ethan begs again, nearly a whine.

Dorian can't help himself: he laughs softly. "You do beg so prettily," he says, and the tips of his fingers hit a spot that make Ethan go rigid and tears another ragged moan from him. "I wonder if you'd put your mouth to use after this?"

Ethan nods, far gone from who he used to be. Someone different altogether, perhaps: someone Ethan has not seen in some time underneath all those layers. "Whatever you - _ fuck_, just move faster, _ please_." Those country manners are something to be admired for sure: they've gotten him nowhere, despite Dorian's suggestion of them, and yet Ethan still employs them.

And Dorian is impatient, but he also loves to savor that which he knows is special, sacred. Ethan, certainly, is just that. “In a moment,” he says, and rubs at that spot again to watch the way Ethan’s face creases in pleasure. He withholds pressure, bewitched by the way Ethan’s neck strains, his mouth opens in a silent scream, his chest arches. He’s relentless; he shoves his fingers against that spot again and again, harder and with more pressure each time.

Ethan lets out a sob, almost undone. “I swear, I’ll kill you if you don’t fuck me now,” he threatens, utterly seriously, and Dorian finally withdraws his fingers, shifting to line up with Ethan’s entrance instead. 

“As you wish," he murmurs, and in one smooth movement thrusts in.

Another flash: Ethan's gasp: Dorian, encompassed in pleasure that burns its way up his spine and down to his toes. Ethan's next noise is low, drawn out, far from gratified. Dorian goes slowly still, intent on teasing until the last of Ethan's patience — and pleasure — is eked out. He is many things, but he’ll never leave one of his guests unsatisfied. He thrusts again.

Ethan scrambles for something to hold onto. "More," he grunts, and Dorian snaps his hips a little faster, a little stronger. Ethan positively whines. _ "More!" _

Dorian smirks down at him, at the debauched, flushed look on Ethan's face, the wildness to his eyes. "If you're sure." As he speaks, he pulls nearly all the way out, and with the most force he can muster slams completely back in, angling.

Ethan barks out a sob of pleasure. The flash again. "Fuck," Ethan hisses, grinding his hips into Dorian desperately. "Good God, _fuck_ \- "

He reaches for his cock, and Dorian bats his hand away. "Not yet," he says, still composed. "Not yet. Feel this instead, the way it lights up inside you, the way you’re being filled. The completeness of it. I think sex is like music — you can hear the way arousal swells, comes in and out. Like the tide on the beach, like Isolde’s grief, you can hear everything.” He pounds harder, and Ethan lets out a short cry. “So feel this. Be present. Listen.”  
  
Silence descends as Ethan bites back his next sound: all that’s heard for several seconds is the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of a coupling. Ethan convulses, grinding down again. “You hear that?” Dorian murmurs, folding Ethan further so that he can breathe Ethan’s air. Ethan’s eyes are struggling to stay open, but they alight on Dorian’s and lock there. “You hear the sound of me claiming you?”

Ethan bites off a shout, tears trailing down his face. "Fuck," he whimpers, and in it Dorian hears the defeat he'd been seeking.

Wordlessly, he takes Ethan in hand, jerking in time with his thrusts. Ethan lasts one, two pulls before his muscles tighten around Dorian, whole body shuddering violently as he comes. The flash comes again, bright and warm, and Dorian shoves deep and finds his own release, tilting his head back and moaning.

Ethan's breath comes in jerky, half stuttered inhales, body quivering with cold and exertion and the aftermath of pleasure. Dorian is careful as he pulls out, petting Ethan's side like he would soothe a spooked horse. "Sh," he hushes, kind as he thumbs away Ethan's tears. "You did very well."

Ethan blinks up at him, eyes starry with tears, and laughs. It's light, free, the very definition of gratified desire. The photographer sees himself out quietly, more than aware of his role, and Ethan doesn’t seem to notice. He’s caught staring at Dorian in equal parts wonder and quiet contentment.

He opens his arms, and Dorian goes: he’s more than happy for a post coital cuddle if that's what Ethan wishes. They lie there for a time, quiet, and Dorian listens to the sound of Ethan’s heartbeat returning to normal.

“I hope you enjoy it,” Ethan says at length. "Me... immortalized, that is."

Dorian looks at him, and kisses his jaw. Ethan’s eyelashes flutter, but it isn’t with desire: it’s with the quiet happiness of someone well taken care of. "I'm sure I will,” Dorian assures, and Ethan looks at him, lips slowly quirking.

And Dorian does enjoy the photos. Their coupling is encased forever in these tiny portraits, Ethan straining in the black and white light, bared and primitive. And they _do _hold part of Ethan's soul that Dorian should and will cherish.

The vulnerability of honesty is, after all, so appealing to a creature like him.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this fandom is dead, I don't know how big the demand for this ship is, but I couldn't resist the idea of Dorian photographing Ethan! 
> 
> this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, and also the first filth i've ever written, so I hope you all enjoy it and tell me what you think in the comments! thanks so much for reading!


End file.
